pardon me you have been dismissed

Remember a long time ago, when romaine lettuce seemed exotic? I bought into the idea and was happy eating it: crisp, hearty, and the leaves could stand up to any dressing, no matter how moist. Then baby spinach walked into town and frankly, he had a good run, until…mixed greens. I could tolerate mixed greens – variety is the spice of life sort of thing. But then mixed greens were killed off by the ultimate asshole: kale.

I know it’s a superfood. I know. I get it. You can stop mentioning it every time you order your salad. Seriously. Stop. But let’s be real for a brief moment – kale doesn’t even taste that good. No matter how long I steam it, or cook it, my fork still can’t penetrate its waxy coating. And even when I do manage to get a leaf to my mouth, it’s just bitter and bland.

Let’s stop pretending we enjoy it. Kale, romaine, spinach: they’re all just a vehicle to deliver salad dressing to our mouths. You know you’d rather have a wedge of iceberg with ranch dressing dripping down the side.

But it’s not just kale, it’s the fact that everyone who orders kale is a major dick. They’re the kind of people that have to change everything about the very salad they just ordered (dressing on the side, dried cranberries instead of croutons, tofu instead of chicken, hold the walnuts but add sunflower seeds, and can you steam my kale one-and-a-half minutes longer than you normally do?). It’s just a salad; I promise you it’s nothing important.

Side note: “Kale” is what uppity parents name their bitchy sons. Coincidence?

(Annoying white girl voice): Mimosa’s anyone? The best cure for a hangover is to drink more! (Followed by loud cackles).

Ugh. Nothing gets me more bummed than seeing a bunch of single women sitting around a table talking loudly about how crazy they got on Saturday night and then eye-fucking every guy that walks by, while eating frittatas and fried potatoes — AND getting drunk at 11am.

The other weekend, I had the sheer displeasure of heading over to ROMANO’S MACARONI GRILL for my Uncle’s Birthday. Now I love my Uncle and would walk to the end of the Olive Garden or even Bucca Di Bepo for him. I’m just saying, that one step through Romano’s door and I knew that my order would consist of a singular Iced Tea (hold the lemon please) with a later stop at the Taco Truck – Taco Zone.Two hours later, I emerged from the faux stone building where we left a Crayon covered Paper Table, and my mind.